Masquerade
by Ana-Shadow-Wolf
Summary: As she looked around the room, she realized everyone were using masks. And she? She wasn't different from that fauna of hypocrisy..


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Nothing whatsoever... Can I at least cry because of this?

* * *

_Masquerade_

_Masquerade!  
Paper faces on parade...  
Masquerade!  
Hide your face,  
so the world will  
never find you! _

The richly decorated ballroom resembled something from a world of dreams and the era of princess, knights and princes; lovers who would hide behind masks and take advantage of the ball to meet in secret with their "only and true" forbidden love.

The long and elegant dresses, the exotic and unique masks, everything contributed to give to that masquerade an air of mystery. Zakuro was absolutely sure that there wasn't one costume like the other, making of that masquerade the dance of a fauna of exotic and mystic beings… The romance, the Glamour of everything (she thought that the word really should be with a big "g" and written with elegant letters), that dance seemed the purest incarnation of the ones with girls would dream of so often when reading fairytales… Everything was perfect, in every sense…

Then why wasn't she dancing?

Why wasn't she giving herself to the food and expansive wine, enjoying the music and the company? Why wasn't she laughing like the others guests?

She ran her hand over the skirt of her purple dress, ornamented with black threads and little stones. The purple mask, also adorned with black stones, hid her physiognomy that didn't match the scenario and only her eyes showed what she truly felt. Why had she accepted the invitation to begin with? Why was she even _there_?

Because she couldn't just refuse. It was this simple.

When she was invited by someone who was rich and famous, it was always better to just accept whatever invitation it might be, not mattering if she wanted to go or not. Free will had nothing to do it… Zakuro remembered very well (a bit _too_ well) of the gossip and rumors she had had to put up with the first time she had refused. She had learnt early that, in her profession, she was _always_ stepping over thin ice. There were rules of which no one would talk about, but that you had to learn to follow… Always be discrete, never refuse invitations of "high society" people, never go out with anyone in public, never be impulsive…

It was either it or bear the risk of being target of gossip, rumors that would easily evolve into unfounded scandals… And that wouldn't be forgotten. It wasn't as if she could just say "I quit" and change her job… When you first entered the fame's world, you couldn't get out, there wouldn't be things like "start over". People would constantly recognize your face and know your name…

"Excuse me, lovely lady…" She turned, seeing a man dressed in a beautiful golden costume, with a golden mask decorated with small shining stones, like diamonds. He smiled to her. "Would you dance with me?"

She just stared at him in silence. She saw his smile, but also his _eyes_… Dark wells full of a kind of malice that displeased her. The man's smile seemed somewhat false, full of intentions that just didn't match up his gentle words. Zakuro did her best to give him a sincere smile and have an expression of "_I'm-truly-sorry_" in her eyes… That was also a trick she had learnt and was pretty good at it: Make of her face an eternal mask.

She was no different from that fauna of hypocrisy.

"Oh, I'm sorry, but I can't right now… Maybe later?" Zakuro suggested, using the right measure of lamentation, almost of begging, just enough. The man kept his smile, but his cold eyes stared at her with despise and he made a reverence out of mockery. For a second, Zakuro noticed in that forced smile that intended to be polite a mix of feelings: Scorn, a depreciative pity… And anger.

When the stranger walked away, Zakuro held a sigh, looking around and a part of her mind registered the fact that everyone was using masks. It was a costume dance, but the use of masks wasn't obligated and, despite of it, no one there dared to show his or her face. She felt a shiver and pushed the thought away with the same agility of someone who was trying to get rid of a poisonous serpent.

She wished to disappear, to get mixed with the decoration as a statue… She wished desperately to be in another place, to get rid of the ties she had. She was young, but had lived enough to know that every person has some kind of ties, but tonight, hers seemed as heavy as iron chains… And Zakuro smiled when a rich lady passed by her, smiling and greeting her with that honeyed and voice, full of falsehood…

"_If I touched her hand…" _Zakuro thought, more serious that disdainful "_I don't think I would feel any flesh… Just lies and no real substance."_

In fact, in that moment, the lady seemed a ghost to her: Dead and without essence, as an illusion… No, not even as a ghost, but as something even more unreal and far more twisted.

Zakuro noticed that a group formed by harlequins and fantastic birds were observing her, whispering between them. She didn't even think about getting closer to get some satisfaction neither about joining the conversation and when they noticed that she was staring to them, they just smiled in a sort of greeting, act that Zakuro repeated. Sweet smiles, false smiles… Always the same smiles, the same words in a cycle that would repeat itself forever and ever, a play in which the faces would change and so did the names of the characters/actors but all the rest remained the same.

The thought made her uneasy. More and more she felt that she didn't want to be there, in this golden cage and surrounded by such beings that seemed less and less real and more like things that had come out of a nightmare.

But this wasn't a nightmare. It was real.

And that was the most frightening fact.

_Masquerade!  
Every face a different shade...  
Masquerade!  
Look around  
there's another  
mask behind you! _

She thought that she should dance with someone, just to pretend that she was having fun and loving the party. Join, as she would always do, to that fauna of lies and falseness, taking her place among that group of spiders that spin the most beautiful webs to attract incautious flies that thought to be heading for a higher place and reaching another level, without being aware of what waited for them in the end. And Zakuro herself, who had fall in that web, knew that once in it, you couldn't get out… Or better, you could but couldn't truly leave it. You couldn't make things be the way they were before…

As though her decision of accepting the next call for a dance was transmitted in a kind of wave that could be sensed only by some, she was soon approached by another guest that she hadn't noticed until now. He was tall, dressed all in black, having only the lining of his cape of a deep red, the exact color of blood. The dark mask hid part of a particularly pale face and, of its sides, two strange horns of demon came out. Without any reason, Zakuro found herself thinking about Mephistopheles¹.

The man dressed as a demon smiled and it was a smile that did _not_ intend to hide emotions of fake them. He didn't try to make a seductive or happy smile and even his eyes seemed to shine with a kind of predatory excitement. He gave his hand to her.

"Dance, my dear?" And there was the mockery again, but this time it was _pure_ and not all covered with sweetness as a pathetic disguise. He showed it without any shame. It was this raw sincerity that made Zakuro held his hand as well as her posterior decision, for in other occasion, she wouldn't accept to dance with someone who seemed to be so arrogant and full of superiority.

The man grinned and seemed almost cruelly satisfied. Zakuro felt a sensation of danger deep inside her, but didn't know if it was in relation to the stranger or to her own thoughts about everything that besiege her that night…

"_What is better" _She wondered when he took her to the middle of the ballroom, his hand firm on her waist. "_The cruel sincerity or the honeyed hypocrisy?" _

_Flash of mauve . . .  
Splash of puce . . .  
Fool and king . . .  
Ghoul and goose . . .  
Green and black . . .  
Queen and priest . . .  
Trace of rouge . . .  
Face of beast . . ._

He was a good dancer and the fact that he kept her body close to his with firmness didn't pass unnoticed to her. Just now that Zakuro _truly_ fixed her attention at him, she had the sensation that she _knew_ that man… Behind the mask, she frowned as she tried to remember where she had seen him before…

_She knew him_. Was it the mask or her confusion that made it hard to recognize this man?

His eyes seemed to weight over her, but Zakuro paid it no mind. They danced around that inhuman carnival of masks and colors and the young woman kept her eyes in her dance partner, for it was easier to stare at those grayish eyes than to look around and face those masks that were bothering her so much and that were starting to make her feel anguished… Maybe because those masks seemed to be more real than the people that were hiding themselves behind them.

Herself included.

_Faces . . .  
Take your turn, take a ride  
on the merry-go-round . . .  
in an inhuman race . . ._

"I could not help but notice that you seemed quite… Bored." Zakuro thought what would be the answer to that. It wasn't a question, it was an affirmation and so true that she didn't know what to think about it. It also didn't seem to be a flirt and less an accusation… It was as if he was talking about the singular behavior of some specimen that he was studying…

Realization hit her.

Her body went cold.

He noticed and his cruel eyes seemed to shine.

The hand at her waist brought her close and he held her hand tighter before she could get away. The girl wasn't scared, but felt a kind of anger mixed to gratitude: If he decided to attack the place, at least it would put an end to that dance, that party, that carnival of lies…

At the same time, she had the sensation to be stepping not over thin ice, but over a lair of serpents…

"Only now do you recognize me?" He whispered. "That is so unpleasant… So rude of you, Fujiwara, really rude." He auditioned in a tone that was a mockery of hurt. In answer, Zakuro looked at him with disdain.

"It is not really… Shall we say… _Expected_ to find an enemy in a masquerade. And less expected to be called by him for a dance." She sighed again and asked, almost as if she was commenting about the weather. "What are you doing here? Trying to kill me? As you always do?"

To her surprise, he chuckled, seeming pleased with her words and that made her perturbed… Honestly, the situation was so unexpected, so absurd, that only now Zakuro was truly absorbing the facts: She was at a masquerade given by a stupid millionaire who hadn't what do with her life, dancing with her worst enemy, with an alien who had tried to kill her and her friends several times…

"Well, at least you let the mask fall. Great. That was really annoying me." He turned her and even if it was a warm night, Zakuro felt her blood cold. She wanted to get free, but Sardon² didn't allow it and held her hand briefly as if warning her.

"I don't know what you mean by that." But she knew. In some point deep inside her soul, she knew what he meant but that was point of feelings and instincts that her conscious couldn't reach. And maybe it was better like this…

"No?" He asked as if he was talking with a small child and shook his hand. When he turned her again almost with violence, brought her closer, whispering almost with evilness in her ear a deadly question.

"_Who are you?"_

_Eye of gold...  
Thigh of blue  
True is false  
Who is who?  
_

Zakuro thought he was kidding with her.

"You know my name, don't ask stup…" But soon she understood that it wasn't the answer he wanted. They danced across the ballroom. Colors seemed to get mixed, unreal as the colors of a dream… In some place near them, Zakuro heard the laughter of a woman, but it sounded as the cackling of a witch casting a curse…

She felt sickened… Suddenly, she was sickened of those people, disgusted of that place and its colors… All seemed a sweetened and colored covering that just hid something putrid and full of maggots. And now, somehow, it was as if she still couldn't see what kind of rottenness that imaginary covering was hiding… But she could smell.

"You mean you're your name? You limit yourself to be just your name?" Sardon asked coldly, gazing at her with an expression she couldn't define. Zakuro felt her heart accelerating, for she wasn't sure if she understood (or liked) of what he meant.

The music seemed a weak sound now, almost breakable. At her side, a Pierrot and a silver swan danced together… And Zakuro suddenly was anguished, she felt almost despaired when a thought appeared in her mind. "_They do not have faces, only masks…"_

It wasn't only falseness and hypocrisy… It was falseness in relation to… To existence? To essence? To life?

A web of lies…

_Curl of lip  
Swirl of gown  
Ace of hearts  
Face of clown_

"No, I…" She seemed a child being accused and wished that he would be quiet, but Sardon hadn't that intention and carried on, without stopping a second with the dance that was alike a violent waltz.

"I also haven't asked if you're a mew, actress or whatever it is…"

"What's your point, Sardon?" Zakuro asked in a whispered almost hysterical. She felt entirely fragile as a crystal about to be broken. It wasn't fear of _him_, but of something deeper, something she didn't want to touch…

"Don't you get tired of it? Of having to pretend all the time? Of having to act with caution every second?" He turned her around, pushing her away from him to then pulled her back strongly. Grasping her body against his again.

"Don't you ever get tired of never be able to be who you truly are? Or could it be…" He leaned over her to whisper. "That you don't know who you are anymore?"

_Faces!  
Drink it in, drink it up  
Till you've drowned  
In the light  
In the sound  
Masquerade  
_

Zakuro struggled and Sardon let her go, as a cat playing with a rat. Without thinking about it, without even ratiocinating, the woman joined the crowd of masked, her only wish was to escape, but not of Sardon and yes of that ambient, of that room that now was alike a cage.

Something had been broken forever. The resistance was just gone, giving space to the tiredness that she had been felt since a long time ago… Around her, people were intoxicating themselves in the wine of reverie and lie, getting drugged with falsity… And life seemed lost, making of that dance a masquerade of dead corpses that didn't know they were dead. The perfume of the air merged itself with the decomposed smell of death and lies, making Zakuro sick.

In the multitude of masks, here and there she could occasionally see the Sardon's demon mask, feel his eyes over her and even she did her best to try hid in the multitude, Zakuro knew he was watching her.

The other masks that she saw were not hiding faces, but other masks, eternal masks… The colors were pallid, lifeless and without any essence… Was there anything real? Or someone who was true? That false and cruel dream had reached its climax and the woman felt lost in that distorted fauna.

It had been always like this… Always like this. Since she could remember. Sardon had made the right question: _Who was she?_

_Grinning yellows  
Spinning reds  
Masquerade!  
Take your fill  
Let the spectacle  
Astound you!_

She heard a chuckle in her ear and felt that he touched her face with his own.

"I'm only playing with you…" He whispered before disappearing in the multitude as she wanted to do. But unlike her, he wasn't hiding to run away, it was as a predator that was having fun with the prey.

Zakuro had to always know how to behave, aware that it was for her own sake: A mistake… And there, the media would jump at it, rumors and falsehoods that would destroy her career… And she couldn't just change her life, if she could she would have done it a long time ago. When your face is known, you can't just start things over not even if you move from your town… And when she was a mew, things didn't change to better. She had to be the stronger one, not in powers, but at heart and pretend to be always firm and determined, offering others (who were younger and needed someone to hold on to) a safe shoulder when they needed one to cry and to talk when they felt their fear taking over them and weakened them.

But when she lost her courage and needed to cry, who was there for her?

_Masquerade!  
Burning glances  
Turning heads  
Masquerade!  
Stop and stare  
At the sea of smiles  
Around you! _

Her wish to not be there wasn't only referent to the party, it was about that world, that life in which she felt so lost and confused. Her pretending was so much that Zakuro feared that she was losing who she truly was. The thing she hated the most was when someone would approach her saying "Are you who I think you are?" or "Do I know you?", they were simple questions, unimportant, but to her they held a great impact and a greater meaning…

How she wanted to scream in times like this that no, she wasn't who the others thought she was and no, the others did not know her! The person they saw in the magazines wasn't her and even with her friends, she couldn't be completely honest for having that responsibility of being the older one and therefore, had to watch over the others and not question if they were doing the right thing when she would analyze that war she was in.

Part of the wolf-girl, the controlled, used to the iron chains, didn't want even to think about the subject… What good would it bring? What could be done? Nothing. So, it was better to not listen, not think, and not have the truth confirmed by another like this. Strangely, hearing everything that she felt in the form of words had made all more real and more tiresome to her.

In that dance of lies, she felt herself cold as if her sanity and her own essence were escaping bit by bit of her, leaving her like those masked guests, those maddened creatures that danced and spin in a carrousel of colors and laughs…

And it was all false. A dement dream and cruelest than anyone could imagine…

_Masquerade!  
Seething shadows  
Breathing lies  
Masquerade!  
You can fool  
Any friend who  
Ever knew you _

She felt drunk even if she hadn't drink anything and with the dizziness that precede the faint. However, the thought of fainting in that dreadful ballroom, in the middle of those beings deformed by their own lies was something that she didn't want even to think about… A crazy thought came across her mind: That if she fell in the floor, fainted, those creatures with hate and mockery would approach to devour her…

That was a silly and baseless thought for those "creatures" were humans and Zakuro knew it… But in some way, that metaphor seemed true.

She walked to a balcony and leaned over in the main rail, holding her head. She was with a headache and her stomach seemed to have been turned over… Zakuro tried to calm herself down, but it was that despair that she felt that made her heart beat faster… The girl tried to clear her mind, to not think about anything, going into a kind of trance as though she wanted to go in the core of her own being and get rid of those lies, of that constantly act in that play that she hated and find herself again, rescue who she truly was…

Zakuro felt a hand caressing her back. She didn't look to see who was… It was unnecessary.

"Tired?"

Zakuro faced him. Slowly, he took his mask off and put it over the mail rail. It had been only a question, but could mean a lot of things…

Zakuro sighed and nodded, whispering.

"Yes… A lot…" That wasn't a lie. She was tired. Tired of all that, including that war that seemed to not have an end.

Slowly, as if dealing with a little scared animal, Sardon held her. Zakuro only rested her head against his chest closing her eyes and relaxing… She didn't think about anything, or in the mews, or in the media, or even about herself of that masquerade that, for her, was finally over.

When Sardon lifted her face, she didn't show any resistance and when he kissed her, she didn't reject him. The hateful play that had taken her life over had had its final act finally and even the air of the night seemed fresher and more real.

The chains had been broken…

_Masquerade!  
Leering satyrs  
Peering eyes  
Masquerade!_

When they distanced themselves, Sardon went back and stretched his hand as he had done a while ago to invite her to dance…

No one noticed when the woman of purple hair held the hand of the man dressed in black clothes… Not even when the air around them seemed to wave while both disappeared…

_Run and hide  
But a face will  
Still pursue you!_

The moon illuminated the balcony, reflecting upon something…

A dark mask of a demon… And a purple one with small dark stones…

Both broken, reduced to pieces…

* * *

¹ A devil, character of the _Goethe's Faust.  
_  
Cover: _ art/Masquerade-Cover-348178505_

Please forgive any english mistake, english is not my first language.


End file.
